


Survival 2001 (The Amazon Adventure)

by elvis_0n_ac1d



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: 2000s, Action/Adventure, Adventure, Bickering, Childishness, Comedy, Dear diary..., Drugs, Friendship, Fun, Gen, Implied Relationships, M/M, Stupidity, Survival, Swearing, derps in the jungle, lost and maybe found
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-26 15:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7580581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elvis_0n_ac1d/pseuds/elvis_0n_ac1d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The band Marilyn Manson had a plane crash. It's all about derps in the jungle, friendship in all colors and an incredible survival story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Restless Return Flight

**Author's Note:**

> Any old Manson fans around here? Maybe my fanfiction is already known as "The Amazon Adventure" (maybe not). To tell the truth, it’s no new shit… It's so 2000! Yes, indeed. I started doing the story ten years ago when I was a whacked teeny guy but I decided to edit and finish it, finally. Because I still like to share this crazy stuff.
> 
> It takes place to the transition phase as Twiggy had been replaced by Tim Skold. I just wanted both of them beeing part of my story as current and pre-members of MM. All is stuff of my phantasy, so I don't own the personas known as members or ex-members of the band Marilyn Manson. Most of this stuff is pure phantasy but I also used some basic datas. Nevertheless it’s all imaginary.
> 
> “Survival 2001” is totally whacked shit (especially the joural entries), rather stupid but from the bottom of my heart!  
> Well, I say sorry for my humble English. It's not my mother tongue but I do my very best.  
> _________________________________________________________________________________________

**Restless Return Flight**

Manson was in a bad mood. He looked out of the little band jet window like a chained dog because he really felt like one. The band was on the way back home from Rio de Janeiro where they'd performed on a famous TV-show and had given some interviews.

The roaring noise of the jet mixed up with the heavy-metal fuss blaring out of Pogo's poor headphones. The man seemed to be very bored and lost in thoughts while a swearing Ginger Fish jumped up and down the narrow corridor. He desperately tried to get any mobile reception while Manson tried his best to ignore the drummer, gritting his teeth in growing annoyance. A few minutes later he started fumbling for his bag down to his feet. 

Twiggy shoved Ginger rudely from behind. “Yo Franklin, out of ma way!”  
He stepped little involved over the drummer who had stumbled foolishly, now glaring daggers at him. “ _Kenny_ , dumbass! By the way: the loo is occupied.”  
Ginger got up mocking awkwardly before he swore loudly because of losing his cell somewhere underneath the seats. At last Ginger spotted it under Marilyn's seat. He hesitated due to the fact that the boss was busy writing into his black inconsiderable book. Everyone knows, disturbing Manson doing journal entries will end with a bloody nose or something like that.

~~

_Hey diary 09-22-2001, 2:15pm_

_I'm very glad that the motherfuckin' thing is over. Finally! I can't wait to come back home, back to my hot babe! Yeah._  
_That's a by-word for rest and peace. I need it so bad... Those derps bother the shit out of me! We're right now somewhere over Brasilia and I still can't believe that those creepy sick guys around me are quiet now ...at least kind of._  
_Pogo's sitting on his seat, gawking at the ceiling and everybody on this fuckin' plane HAS TO listen to his damn metal crap!_  
_Ginger this damned fool runs up and down the corridor holding up his cell... I believe he thinks coz we're closer to the satellites mobile reception would be better. Idiot!_  
_OK, Twiggy knocked over this lil' bastard – ha!_  
_… I celebrate it too soon._  
_IF THE TOILET IS OCCUPIED PISS INTO A BOTTLE AND SHUT THE FUCK UP!!_  
_It's Jesus, this son of a bitch. I know he's the one who get in the way of... all I wanna do. You're the only one I can talk to trustfully, beloved diary. Thanx for that._

_666  
MM_

~~

In the meantime the man with dreadlocks had to deal with a furious Ginger Fish, who wasn't amused that he used his holy drumsticks to treat the closed cabin door angrily.  
“What the fuck is going on in there?!! Le'me in or I'll piss at your luggage!!”  
“Stop using my drumsticks, asshole!! Give 'em to me!”  
“Stop gettin' in the way of me, Franky Frankenstein!!”

The two kept on bickering harder when the door opened all of a sudden. Twiggy dropped the drumsticks immediately. Even Ginger glared perplex at Tim Skold now. The blonde seemed to be cool as a cucumber although red lipstick marks were smeared all over his face. After an awkward silence he cleared his throat and straightened his black T-shirt nonchalantly. Another blonde head appeared hesitantly behind his broad shoulders.  
“We had to fix some stuff. Helped John with the guitar, ya know.”  
The guitarist nodded quite eagerly and held up his beloved instrument.  
“The strings!” He pointed out uncalled-for before he shoved Tim out of the narrow cabin hastily.

Twiggys eyebrow raised in slow-mo as he stepped aside.  
“What the...?” He uttered quite wearily. However. On top of that, the bassist really had to take a dump. Tim kept on smiling, heading for his seat fully relaxed. John was tensed like the strings on his guitar. With a lot of fumbling he managed to put his precious guitar in its case. He felt Manson glancing at him confused but he didn't turn towards him, even as he was sneering at him. “You get along with him after all?...” - “Shut up, Manson.” John muffled, lolling in his seat finally.

Pogo's attention was attracted by now, so he turned out the terrible noise. Then he turned in his seat to look at Skold curiously.  
“Is that warpaint on your mug? Why do ya remove that?? It's _def_ , man!” The dirty-colored mohawk was shaking under his distracting cackles.

Tim Skold looked up deadpanned. He knew a thing or two about the band members but after all he was only the co-producer, a friend of Manson. This wild bunch reminded him too much of stupid teeny times. Honestly, Skold looked forward to go his way after this futile trip. All he was expecting was checking out some studios and do his own thing afterwards. He really didn't know how he could end up in the thick of it…

Ginger sat down, now clenching his drumsticks grimly. He just couldn't leave them in the bunk where the other instruments were (besides John 5's guitar). Absentmindedly he started drumming on the seat in front of him where John was sitting. Until this moment, the tattooed man was watching the jungle through the little jet window. There were no clouds at all, just the blazing sun above the endless green. The silent but perceptible drumming deviled him. “Moah! Stop that, Ginge!”

When John flipped out at the end, trying to grab the drumsticks to maul his bandmate instead, a bored Pogo weaseled up to the cockpit to hack the pilot off. If the grumpy quasi-member wasn't in the mood to play with him, he had to look for another (you can say) playfellow.

~~

_09/22/2001 2:45pm_

_I'm sitting here to take a proper shit but it's really hard. especially when you're caught with those hoes on a plane. since blondie joined things went worse. marilyn didn't even ask! '0ooh look, that's my nu friend Mr Supercool from KMFuckyou! he's the new prodjuicer and besides he PLAYS THE BASS!' !!BLAH! the wannabeproducerbastard screwed John five minutes ago at the same place where I'm sittin' now... I guess we've a second traitor . GREAT. I'M OUT!! I don't mind coz there are enough bands outside…_

_Fuck u,  
Jeordie_

~~

In the meantime, John had calmed down and sat back again. Ginger had to save his drumsticks and also himself from the raging guitarist, now he was in a snit with crossed arms. Manson could hardly keep calm though. With closed eyes he leaned against the wall beside the small window, still hoping this stressing flight might be over soon (better: right now). He was actually surprised by his huge patience. He felt like Buddha.

A terrible squeaking noise caused by Gingers index finger disturbed the bad atmosphere on board again. He wrote _John is a dumbass_ on the fogged glass pane. Manson was teeth grinding when John turned over another time and stared into Gingers eyes, making a killing gesture. Ginger stared back but before anyone could react furthermore, a fierce turbulence let the jet shake. A shriek came out of the cabin. 

Manson had a feeling. Someone special wasn't on his seat, so he did something he would regret soon. “POGO! Heel!”

Of course the hyperactive man didn't listen. He went and went on to the poor and stressed pilot who had a hard time controlling the plane.  
“Look, I worked for NASA , y'know! We can start a battle: who flies faster, higher, more thrilling! - Oh, come on now. _Please!_ Ya know I'm the one who gonna win, right? 'Coz you're just a random pilot-pussy!”

Suddenly someone grabbed him by his shoulders impatiently and tried to maneuver him out of the cockpit. Instead of easing the situation, Manson started more chaos because Pogo didn't want to give up, of course. He struggled under Mansons tightening grip whining. The pilot was dripping with sweat.

“ _Smoking is fordbidden_!”  
The blonde raised his shaved eyebrows arrogantly. “Congratulations, Fish. You can read!”  
“Drop it, Skold! He's right.” John confirmed his bandmate.  
Ginger raised his also shaved eyebrows, too, but in a mocking way (everyone had to shave eyebrows since Manson had passed the bill).  
“Look!... I thought you've changed over to _him_ , John?”  
“What the hell, Ginge! How old are you?”  
Skold watched them amused while he continued smoking nonchalantly.

***

Another turbulence hit the plane, it lost a few feet height at once.  
Twiggy managed coming out of the cabin all dazzled. He was wailing.  
“My diary fell into the toilet... FUCK! What's goin' on?”

The others were startled by now, too. The bassist was cut off for seconds by the strange sight of Ginger sitting sheepishly on Johns lap. Skold had dropped his cigarette accidentally but he did still his favorite face: he deadpanned.

Manson grabbed Pogo in a headlock but all effort was for the birds. His oldest and craziest friend kept on babbling, all reluctantly. “You're _pilot_ , don't cha know?! So simply to fly a jet! How did you get your fuckin' flying license, hu?”  
“Now shut up, moron!”  
“Marulyn, would ya please le'me b-”

They were roughly interrupted by the operator who checked the board instruments and blinking lights with panic in his wide opened eyes.  
“Could you please shut up, only this moment, _please?!!_ You - Oh Lord, I – I think the machine is damaged!” 

The man seemed to be close to an anxiety attack when he glanced through the front shield. Pogo was obviously in an opposite mood. Sighing he raised an eyebrow and followed the pilot's glance outside as well as he could from his position.  
“You _think?_ Y'have to fucking _know_ this in fact, fool.”

Now Manson was at the end of his tether but before he could punch his friend right into his face, the operator swore loudly. Only a second later the jet lost more height by what it was shaking horribly. In point of fact the instruments showed alarming outcome. Another violent jerk caused the four men at the passengers area to yell at the same time, during Manson stumbled with Pogo still in a headlock.

The operator flinched, all sweating and panting. After a short but tensed silence he grabbed the mic in panic. “At all passengers: Take your life preservers now! - _You too, batshit insane idiots!!_ ”


	2. A Hard Landing

**A Hard Landing**

The sprawling sea of green dozed in the tropical heat which wrapped it with its misty and wafting fingers. Everything seemed to be as always in the everlasting jungle...  
No, not everything. Above all those steaming treetops were six men fixed on their parachutes trundling downwards while a smoldering plane fell roaring from the innocent blue sky and shattered somewhere on the endless green horizon. After that, you could hear a few shrill voices fading in the warm air.

“My guitars!”  
“Shut the fuck up, John!”  
“Shut YOU the fuck up, idiot!”  
“Ow. My cigarettes...”  
“My cell.”  
“My diary!”  
“Just butt out now, you fucking lunatics!”  
“LOOK OUT! TREE!”

The idyll of the peaceful jungle was ruined by the noise of cracking wood and involuntary dying plants. A bunch of animals freaked out and the beastly riot spread over the whole tropical forest, mixed with human cry though.

“Ouch!”  
“Fuck!”  
“Twiggy, get your faggy hair out of ma face! Gee!”  
“Be quiet, John! I've seen what you did there with the NEW BASSIST!”  
“You saw NOTHING!”  
“Heyhey Twiggles, I've _never_ ever claimed that Tim's a new member.”  
“Ha-haah, very funny, Mr Warner! - DON'T gape at me like that, Skold!!”  
“Pretty tree...”

The situation wound down but the keyboardist began to whistle a stupid song. Ginger looked at him acidly. Pogo caught the drummers glance at haphazard and gawked back with his big blue eyes. “What?” Ginger just crossed his arms, pressing them against his chest like a huffy child. Although the sight was rather overwhelming, he couldn't enjoy it. Not with an annoying Pogo within eyeshot and earshot.  
“Great. Now we're hanging on a tree.”

“Ask Pogo!” Manson hissed and crossed his arms, too. He flashed the named man a killing glance but he pulled his socks up remembering the Buddha-situation a short while ago. Maybe he would pay him back in kind later. Or in spades. That's much better, he thought.

Pogo had switched off mentally minutes ago, though. Suddenly he picked a small berry up from his completely damaged mohawk. “Lol.” Faster than you can blink, the mysterious fruit disappeared in the crazy keyboardist's throat.

Twiggy shook his head uncomprehendingly and he did his very best not to look down.  
No one could really enjoy the bizarre jungle atmosphere, all of them hung helplessly and shocked in the same tree.

Only Pogo continued whistling what sounds rather crappy what again fitted pretty to his messy hair and destroyed clothes. John pouted so hard that even Twiggy worried about him now. He put an arm around him warily (as far as he could because the entangled parachute ropes complicated this).

“I'm sorry, man. Just want the best for you.” John looked at him doubtfully. “What do you want?” Ginger sighed and looked up to John and Twiggy who hanged at the branch above him. “What _real_ friends want.” He meddled. 

The guitarist shook his head wearily and sighed. At last he was too mixed up to follow the senseless conversation that came up between his bandmates, ganging up on Tim Skold more and more.

During Manson and Skold exchanged oddly glances, Pogo turned to Skold with sparkling eyes, incoherently uttering “Hey, dude. If you also eat this thing, everything will be alright!” He grinned foolishly and reached out his hand, waiting for Tim’s hand in vain. He just threw him a warning glance.

Manson ignored what went on and brooded over their tricky situation furthermore. No matter how desperate it was, there had to be a way out. No matter the cost. After a while he took command.

“Fuckers! Listen to me, _especially Pogo_. First we have to free us from our parachutes. Be careful with your belts... _especially Po-_ ” He was interrupted by the keyboardist.  
“Ow, why me?”  
“Just SHUT UP! You did enough for today, douche bag!”  
“Eh? I've only chatted with Mr Spock! ... Where's he?”  
“I haven't finished yet! At what point did I...”

The others glanced at each other in a slight annoyance when Manson finally continued. “Ah, right. Then we have to climb down.”  
Tim applauded sarcastically duckfacing.

***

A little later most of them were busy with their belts. The command seemed to be clear to everyone but at a single blow, there was a surprised yell and none other than Pogo fell off his branch. Everyone stared downwards in shock, especially Ginger who had already been in Pogo's way. 

Only Marilyn deadpanned. He saved himself by wrapping his arms and legs around a branch that he looked like a sloth. “ _What_ did I fucking tell ya, dumbass?!”

“Hang in there!” Ginger yelled shortly after the hapless keyboardist thud right into brushwood with a terribly cracking noise. Twiggy gulped and John started shaking, unable to utter any sound. 

“Lucky boy.” Skold murmured. This would be the perfect moment to inspect his polished fingernails in disinterest but he gripped the branch, so he couldn't.

Then there was a rustling and crunching noise in the brushwood. A euphoric shriek cut the sweltering air all of a sudden. “SHIT-HOT! HERE ARE MORE BERRIES!”  
Manson rolled his eyes and Twiggy raised an eyebrow. A few tiny flies pranced around his dreadhead but he didn't care. “Gee! Let's get out of here.” The drummer mumbled anxiously. “Well... We don't use the way he did, right?”

Manson was already about climbing down. “Surely not, Fish.”  
Ginger glanced at John who hung still at his parachute in a shocked state. The almost unbearable humid air began to knock him out.  
“I like to chill out for a while...” He said numbly.  
“I think it's better to chill out la-”

“Hey, no coffee party up there!” Manson shouted in annoyance.  
Right in this moment Twiggy frightened to death as he lost his hold. But for all that he fell not deep. 

“Get the fuck off!” Skold shrieked in panic. He had to stand Twiggy’s weight now, who clinched his lower legs until his fingernails pierce the black denim.  
“I can't!”  
“You can!”  
“I dunno how-”  
“I DON'T WANNA END UP IN POGO'S SCRUP!”

In the meantime Marilyn and Ginger joined Pogo (not into the brushwood but finally on solid ground). When they were busy to brush off their dirty clothes, the futile dispute between the two unlucky fellows went on. 

I didn't last long, actually. Only seconds later, both of them fell like overripe fruit right into the same brushwood Pogo crushed shortly before. Manson and Ginger took their eyes off when someone blared awfully. “You destroyed my beautiful berries!”


	3. Welcome To Hell

After a while the tense situation wound down. Pogo was very upset and if there weren't his little new friends (Manson called them fittingly _stoner berries_ ) he'd beaten the shit out of Twiggy and the blonde. After all, Manson and his bandmates directed to find the smashed plane. Hopefully the radio would work, otherwise they were lost in this green hell forever.

They walked through the thick hot air which was much stuffier than up in the treetop. The men groaned with the effort, especially Twiggy. His dreadlocks felt like a hat he would only wear in Siberia during the hardest winter. Insects chirped everywhere, in the distance you could hear wild monkey screams. Everything there was different, they seemed to be on another planet. Fat drops dipped down from huge leaves hence the poor stranded men wouldn't die of thirst at least. Manson marched decidedly in front of the others.

***

“I see... a lot of... trees!...” Pogo whispered reverently, slinking behind. He gaped around like he want to add that the green walls came closer and closer. Skold turned to look at Pogo and raised an eyebrow in disgust. 

“Yeah. Those fucking berries are growing out of your ears.” The man who was completely out of line grabbed at the sides of his head hectically and let his hands down quickly but kind of tranquilized. “Y' lying to me… Why?”

Twiggy passed the blonde, striking mindless against his shoulder. Now Skold decided to look at Twiggy with an indefinable glance. “Don't. Touch. Me. Ever. Again.”  
The black haired squinted at him deadly. “Such was not my intention.” He mocked growling.

During they glared at each other deadly, Skold ran right hard from a low hanging and unfortunately solid branch. He startled and gasped like a punished Jack Russell Terrier. Twiggy avoided the branch smirking. 

The blonde was too busy to avenge himself, looking for a tissue in vain. With his bloody nose and these dark circles around his eyes he looked more like Manson after a show.

Pogo suddenly squeaked in rapture as he picked up a fruit randomly. “Oh, look! Omnomnom!” Ginger heard this, he turned to him alarmed. The drummer went over quickly and snatched the fruit from Pogo as he already was about to sink his teeth into it.

“This is _toxic_ , shmo! Put it away and move ya ass!” Ginger scolded him, not noticing the frustration in the keyboardists blue eyes. By the way, the drummer was the botanic expert among them. He had read a lot of books about exotic plants and fruits during the boring tour bus rides. No one could know that Ginger would be their life saver someday.

“Oh, come on, Franky” Manson grinned devilishly. “Don't be a meanie...”  
“ _Kenny_ , goddamned crap shit!!” The misnamed man raged. Pogo smiled mischievously next to him. “Oh pardon, you're not Franklin Frankenstein? Actually, there are simila- _ouch!_ ” Ginger and Pogo started to wrangle like two prepubescent schoolboys.  
The small group went on anyway. “Has anyone a fuckin' tissue? Anyone?!”

Lost in thought Manson aimed for the damned jet what had broken down anywhere. He just knew the rough direction and wanted to forge ahead as fast as possible. They simply weren't made for the dangerous depths of the tropical forest. How long would it take to starve here? How long would it take to be killed and eaten by those wild animals in fact? Actually he was more frightened by the quite humiliating thought, he'd die among those fuckers in this green hell. Manson kept back his coming up anxiety.

***

The night came slowly and they ran their feet off literally. The fucked up men had the dim feeling that they got nowhere. In addition, they didn't rest all the time because Manson pushed his bandmates on regardless. 

Twiggy was the first who complained about Manson’s forced march.  
“Everything looks the same here! My feet hurt like shit and I just wanna drink Whiskey and go to bed... _Gee, Marilyn!_ Let's rest finally!” He spoke for everyone. Everybody was terribly exhausted, so Manson couldn't really answer Twiggy back. 

Even Pogo was exhausted as hell because his _stoner berries_ lost their effectiveness and he couldn't find more of them yet. When they found a place to spend the night, they thud next to the chosen tree and most of them fell into a deep sleep all of a sudden.

 

If anybody else had seen them he or she wouldn't believe that this bunch of men is the band Marilyn Manson. They laid close to each other because you’d never know what's happening next in a foreign land, especially in the wild. If they'd live to see the next morning? Actually, Manson didn't really care but there was a little pinch of hope inside his grumpy, black heart.


End file.
